


Stranded

by Violet_Jones



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Airplanes, Airports, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18481999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: Ian gets stranded at the airport during a storm, and gets to talking to the grumpy passenger next to him.





	Stranded

> _I fucking told you. Idiot._
> 
> _What was I supposed to do? I’ve had this flight scheduled for fucking weeks._
> 
> _And now you’ll have to suffer the consequences of not calling ahead to reschedule when you knew a goddamn typhoon was hitting._
> 
> _I didn’t have any place to stay anymore anyway. I was only booked through this morning._
> 
> _Enjoy your airport prison. :-)_
> 
> _Eat a dick. It’d probly be good for you. Dick._
> 
> _No thanks. You eat enough dick for the both of us. I’m sure you can find a nice lady-boy to tide you over during your long wait._
> 
> _You’re the worst. I hate you. Bye._
> 
> _Don’t die. Text me when you make it to Switzerland._

Ian heaved a big sigh, sent off a middle finger emoji, and swiped WhatsApp closed on his phone, wishing he’d been keeping in contact with anyone else back home but Lip. His barely older brother was an annoying asshole when he wanted to be. And he usually did want to be. He had an attitude he wore like armor against the mundanity of being human. Ian was pretty sure he was born with a chip on his shoulder. Still, some of his bravado in this case was likely related to jealousy.

Despite Lip being the genius in the family, he railed against his smarts as much as he exalted them, and that usually left him spinning his wheels and squandering his potential. Ian, on the other hand, always just kind of did whatever he wanted. For himself. By himself. It didn’t bother him to be independent and follow what whims he lucked into at any given moment. Ian’s brain might not be as big, but he used it for better ends than Lip did a lot of the time.

That’s how he ended up being the first Gallagher to travel abroad. He’d chosen Thailand, because as far as foreign countries went, it was a cheap one, and he was excited to experience jungles, and beaches, and golden temples, and a culture far removed from whatever the hell America’s was supposed to be.

He’d trekked around the country for nearly two glorious weeks, and now here he was—stranded in an airport whose name he couldn't even pronounce, with no clue as to how long he would be stuck there. Some pretty serious rain and winds were pounding against the thick glass walls of the terminal, and all the red digital sign above the boarding counter said was ‘DELAYED,’ which wasn’t very helpful, even in multiple languages. He wasn’t exactly an expert on airport travel or Southeast Asian weather patterns, but he figured it was gonna be at least a couple of hours before conditions would improve. Luckily he had a portable battery charger and access to free wifi. If that went out with the storm, he had a few seasons of a TV show downloaded on his phone as a back-up for in-flight entertainment. He could just put his earphones in and try to forget about the scary torrential downpour raging before his very eyes.

He leaned down to rifle through his backpack for chapstick, checking for the billionth time to make sure his passport and ticket were still there, then dug around for the earphones.

Just as he was about to pop them in, someone slammed down into the seat next to him, tossed their bag to the floor with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer, and began muttering under their breath.

“Fuckin’ monsoon season my motherfuckin’ lily-white ass. Can’t believe that stupid bitch convinced me to come here. She knew this shit would happen to me. Never gettin’ on a fuckin’ airplane again. Pieces of shit, dumbass mode of transportation. Like I wanna be in this weird-ass place. Like I fuckin’ speak Chinese, you tiny dick motherfuckers.”

Ian couldn’t help but be intrigued and amused by the grumbled ranting of the stranger, even if a part of him was cringing, hoping no one around them was a Thai citizen who spoke English and could also hear the offensive digs this guy was throwing around because he was being inconvenienced by a natural disaster.

He chuckled, and decided to chime in. “You mean Thai.”

He looked over to find a dark-haired, pale guy who seemed to have gotten even less sun than Ian did on his vacation. That was all he really had time to observe, before the guy’s head turned and icy blue eyes meet his gaze with a deep scowl. “You talkin’ to me?”

Ian tamped down the laughter wanting to burst forth. “Yeah, I am. I don’t know if you’re just passing through or what, but this isn’t China. They don’t speak Chinese. They speak Thai. And in the international airport, a lot of them do speak English too.”

The guy squinted his eyes, made a face like _Ian_ was the moron in this equation, and continued on in his brusque manner. “Thanks for the fuckin’ news flash, dickbreath, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t talkin’ to your ass.”

“No shit,” Ian pressed on. “I just couldn’t help but overhear your deranged raving about the weather, airplanes, and the place and people you’re currently surround by. My bad. I recommend not talking to yourself in public. It’s kinda weird.”

He wasn’t entirely sure this guy wasn’t about to deck him right across the jaw. Part of him looked like he wanted to. But the other part of him looked reluctantly curious. “Anyone ever tell you to mind your own fuckin’ business, carrot top?”

Ian rolled his eyes at the old familiar taunt about his hair color. “Like I said, don’t think aloud, and maybe people won’t respond. See, there’s this thing where you can just think thoughts right inside your head, and you don’t even have to reveal them out loud at all.”

“You tryin’ to get knocked out today, Howdy Doodie?”

“Are you an old man trapped inside a younger dude’s body? You gonna ask me if I’m _cruisin’ for a bruisin’_ next? Call me Archie?”

The guy snorted in spite of himself, which made Ian smile. “How’re you _not_ pissed right now? Ain’t like I’m the only one here that’s a little upset.” He gestured over to a long line of passengers in various states of distress waiting to talk to the gate agents. “At least I’m not over there harassin’ the help.”

Ian tipped his head. “That’s fair. Can I just give you one more piece of advice?” In lieu of a reply, he merely got an impeccably arched eyebrow, so he continued, “Don't talk crazy to yourself in public, and then say, ‘You talkin’ to me?’ like Robert DeNiro in _Taxi Driver,_ cuz like, you might get shot up or something. As a preventative measure, before you can go on your killing rampage.”

The guy's other eyebrow joined the first one high up on his forehead, a little smirk tugging at his full lips. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

Ian nodded once, then turned back to his phone, assuming the guy would now dismiss him, but much to his surprise, he actually continued, “I don’t usually talk to myself.”

Ian faced him once more. “Oh yeah?”

“I just haven’t had fuckin’ anyone to talk to here except my sister for the past three weeks, so… I don’t know, not usually much of a talker, but I guess I got some shit pent up. I don’t handle this kinda thing well—bein’ angry or whatever. Fuck knows how long we’ll end up stuck in this shitty airport.”

“I saw some pretty high end stores walking through the terminal. I think it could be a lot shittier.”

“Do I look like I buy high end shit? Ain’t exactly a money guy. Ain’t exactly a travel guy either.”

“Me neither.”

“The hell you doin’ here then?”

“This is the first trip I’ve ever been on. I mean, I guess we’ve driven to like Michigan before, and I took a bus to New York one time. That’s about it. Finally saved up a little money. Took a risk. You?”

“My sister, man. She somehow landed this rich prick who works for an international company. Fuck knows how. She ain’t exactly charming. Pretty sure she’s the most interesting thing about him, so I still don’t get why they’re together, other than that she likes his money, since we never had none. He moved here on some two-year contract, and she came with him. Asked me to come visit. He wasn’t even here. He’s in Singapore or some shit. It’s the fuckin’ life, I guess. Get some sugar daddy and just do what the hell you want. I wanted to steal a buncha the fancy stuff he had sittin’ around his fancy house, but Mandy checked my bags before she’d let me leave.”

Ian cracked up at that. “You sure you’re not a talker? Cuz you just said a lot.”

The guy just flipped him off.

“I’m Ian,” he said, offering a hand.

The guy stared at it for a beat, then looked back up at him, “How do you know this isn’t one of them countries where you’re not supposed to shake hands?”

“I think that’s in countries where they use their right hands to wipe their ass with, instead of toilet paper.”

The guy made a face of disgust and eyed his hand warily again.

Ian snickered. “I promise you, I’m clean as a whistle.”

“I always thought that was a weird-ass phrase. Like, if it’s referring to a physical, metal whistle, those things have spit all up in them. If it’s a whistle like you make a sound just with your mouth, what the fuck is clean about it? Or maybe it’s about a train? It’s an Old West thing, right?”

“Jesus Christ, should I retract my hand or are you gonna introduce yourself, you weirdo?”

Finally, he put his palm in Ian’s and gave a brief, but firm shake. “Mickey.”

Ian looked back toward his phone and pulled up Chrome, typed into the search bar, then stated, “According to Google’s top answer, ‘clean as a whistle’ originated from an old simile that describes the whistling sound of a sword as it swishes through the air to decapitate someone.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows with interest once more. “Really? That’s actually kinda badass.”

Ian chortled. “How’d I know you’d be into beheadings?”

“‘Ey, I watch _Game of Thrones_ just like everybody else.” He stuck out the tip of his tongue through a smile.

“I don’t really watch much TV. I’m just now checking out _Breaking Bad_. Needed some kind of entertainment for the occasional boring parts of being away from home.”

“That show’s good too,” said Mickey. “But it ain’t got dragons.”

“Do I look like a dragon person to you?”

“Do _I_?”

Ian let out a small breathy laugh. “No, I guess not.”

“Don’t gotta be a fantasy geek to get into it. It’s violent as hell. That’s the main attraction for me.”

“Oh? So it's not the tits?” Ian said daringly, “I’ve heard there’s lotsa tits.”

Mickey cringed in a way that Ian was finding more and more adorable. “Not my thing, man.”

Ian smiled widely. “Mine either.”

Mickey’s eyebrows went up in surprise again, and he gave Ian a short once over. “Good to know.”

Ian’s hand flew to the back of his neck, like he was suddenly bashful or something, and he may have even felt his cheeks heating up in a blush. “Yeah, I guess so.”

A couple hours passed as they sat bullshitting while they waited for some kind of announcement about their flight. They still weren’t given an ETD and it was starting to get even darker outside as the sun went down somewhere behind the storm clouds. The outlook wasn’t good, seeing as the hard rain clearly wasn’t letting up any time soon. It was a wonder the power was even still on. Ian briefly wondered what size generator they must have at a place like this. It was on the list of busiest airports in the world according to some random tourist magazine he’d leafed through earlier.

His stomach started tightening, and he realized he should probably fill it, so he turned to Mickey. “Wanna get some food?”

Mickey heaved a big sigh and looked up at the high ceiling. “I’m so fuckin’ sick of Asian food!”

“Well, you’re in luck then, cuz that person over there has Burger King.” He pointed to a guy shoving a cheeseburger into his mouth. “I hear it tastes the same everywhere.”

Mickey let out an almost indecent groan and shot to his feet. “Let’s fuckin’ do it.”

Ian chuckled. “Lemme just go talk to one of the airline ladies and see if I can get some sort of idea when shit will be up and running. Watch my stuff?”

Mickey just shrugged and vaguely nodded.

Ian approached one of the gate agents surrounded by a small group of people trying to get information out of her.

“I’m sorry, I don't have any updates at this time. We will make an announcement as soon as we’re cleared to reschedule. The entire airport is grounded, so it will take some time.”

He could tell she’d repeated the same few sentences a million times by now, but unlike American airport workers would be, she wasn’t being a bitch about it. He saw an opportunity to ease her slightly away from the crowd and turned up the charm as much as he could.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you can't give out any definitive information about what’s going on and that you don’t know anything official, but I assume you’ve probably been through something like this more than once before. Can you just give me your unofficial opinion on how long we’re gonna be here? I won’t tell anyone, I just need to walk around and do something before I go outta my mind, and I don’t wanna miss anything.”

She smiled at him in a private, genuine way and answered in a crisp British accent, “Well, of course you didn’t hear it from me, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up for departing any time today. You’re gonna be here until the wee hours at best, maybe until tomorrow morning. Worst case scenario, tomorrow afternoon.”

He sighed exasperatedly and cursed. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry. If you have some place to go and you want to try and book a later flight for tomorrow or the next day, you can, but your best bet is to wait it out and have them reassign you automatically. Less hassle in the long run.”

“So I’ll be sleeping here tonight then?”

She nodded with an apologetic look on her face. “I think so, yes. There’s no way to safely fly in this and the weather system needs to move sufficiently away from the flight path.”

He nodded at her briskly with his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Of course. Okay. Thank you so much. I’m gonna go eat something.”

“You do that,” she said, adding a flirty wink.

He tried to keep his face impassive and turned to rejoin Mickey.

“Did that chick just fuckin’ _wink_ at you?”

Ian shrugged. “A little.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, snickering. “Jesus. I bet that shit happens to you all the time, huh?”

Ian grinned. “Sometimes.”

“Whatever, let’s get the fuck outta this stupid gate.”

Ian heaved his oversized hiker’s backpack up and slipped it onto his shoulders, softly chuckling at Mickey’s carry-on size rolling suitcase that he dragged behind himself, a half-empty regular backpack over one shoulder.

“The hell’s so funny?”

Ian shook his head. “You just don’t look like the type of guy that would have a rolling bag, I don’t know.”

Mickey snorted. “Oh yeah? Am I supposed to prove my manliness by carrying it by the handle? Look at me, I don’t need convenience.”

Ian laughed. “I said, ‘I don’t know.’ It just looks… unexpected.”

“You’ve known me for like less than three hours, man. There’s probly a lot more shit about me that you wouldn’t expect.” He waggled his eyebrows at Ian in a suggestive way.

“I guess I look forward to you telling me those things.” He paused for a moment, wondering if he should be suggestive too, and decided to just go for it, since it felt right. “Or showing me.”

He kept staring straight ahead, but smirked as he felt Mickey looking at him as they walked.

It took nearly 10 minutes to get to an area with restaurants, the lines long everywhere, since literally thousands of people were unexpectedly stuck in the building until further notice. It took them nearly 20 minutes just to get to the front of the Burger King line, and they ordered two large combos, then went to wait for their numbers to be called. Another 15 minutes went by, with Ian staking out a free table, and Mickey claiming the food.

“Fuckin’ finally!” Mickey exclaimed when he unwrapped his burger, taking the largest bite possible and closing his eyes in satisfaction.

Ian smiled and got to stuffing himself too, the conversation dying down to nothing until they were at least halfway through.

“What is it about being stuck here that makes you so hungry and sleepy?” asked Ian once he felt a little better.

“No idea. The anxiety and anticipation I guess.”

“You know we’re probly gonna have to sleep here overnight, right?”

Mickey’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Yeah. That’s what winky girl told me.”

“The fuck, man? Didn’t think to pass along that information earlier?”

Ian shrugged. “Wanted you to eat something first. Figured you’d be less grumpy about it.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, you’re probly right. Fuck man, I do not wanna be here anymore.”

“You could always try to get back to your sister’s place, I guess, but I don’t know about getting a ride in this either. The lady also told me that it’s easier to have them reschedule you than to try to do it yourself. It’s gonna be the less painful way to get through it, I think.”

“Did I mention I’m never gonna fly anywhere ever again?”

“You say that now, but you’ll forget about it in a week or two.”

“Nuh-uh.” Mickey knocked on his head. “Mind like a steel trap, _and_ the memory of an elephant.”

Ian took some long slow sips of soda through his straw and eyed Mickey across the table with great interest. He was so fucking… _cute_.

“Where you from anyway?” he finally thought to ask.

“Chicago. South Side.”

Ian’s mouth fell open. “Shut the fuck up.”

“What?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Uhhh… yeah?”

“That’s where I’m from too.”

“Chicago?”

Ian nodded. “South Side.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Swear to god. Born and raised. Still live at home. Usually. Sometimes I wander off.”

“Small-ass fuckin’ world, then.”

“Yeah.” A spark of excitement rose up in him, and he couldn’t help but imagine the possibilities. “It's crazy that we’re both connecting through Zurich too. So fucking random.”

“Cheapest tickets with the shortest route.”

Ian smiled. “Yeah. I guess we might get rerouted differently, though, huh?”

Mickey’s eyes seemed to shine with a kind of mischief. “We’ll see.”

Once they were done with every last fry and had cleared their table of trash, they kept walking in a direction away from their gate, wanting to kill time without being stuck in the leather chairs they would probably end up sleeping on very uncomfortably later on.

They strolled through an area in the main concourse that looked like a mall, boasting everything from Chanel to Balenciaga, the actual stores empty in contrast to the walkway they lined.

“Thought this country was generally pretty poor,” said Mickey. “Why they tryin’ to cater to rich assholes in an airport?”

“I don’t know. Duty-free, I guess? They don’t tax it.”

“Wonder what they'd do if we walked into one of ‘em? Think they’d kick us out? Follow us around?”

Ian snorted. “Looks like they keep everything behind glass. Couldn’t lift anything.”

“Relax, Red, I ain’t tryin’ to end up in a damn Oriental prison cell. Or get deported.”

They finally got to an area with less expensive, normal-looking storefronts, and Ian wandered into one, Mickey following him.

“I guess I could pick up some crappy tourist mementos for my family since we have the time,” said Ian.

Mickey made a face. “Waste of money. Ain’t like they were here.”

“It’s a nice gesture. Let’s ‘em know I was thinking about ‘em while I was traveling around.”

“But you weren’t. You forgot until you were stuck in an airport against your will.”

Ian gave him a pointed look. “They don’t have to know that.”

Mickey chortled. “You're a piece of work.”

“I know. A work of art. A masterpiece!”

“And really up your own ass too, huh?”

“Just shut up and help me pick out some knick-knacks that say Thailand on them. I have three younger siblings and two older ones. Three brothers, two sisters.”

“I don’t shop,” groused Mickey.

“Course you don’t,” Ian deadpanned, pleased that Mickey still continued to follow him around as he perused the shelves nonetheless.

Ian walked out with a bagful of coin purses, bottle openers, keychains, and ironic plastic snow globes swinging from one hand. “Where to next?” he asked.

“Gee, I don’t fuckin’ know, how ‘bout more of the Bangkok airport?”

Ian smirked. “Should we get snacks to take back to the gate?”

“How ‘bout a goddamn drink?”

Ian’s eyebrows shot up. “Drinks?”

“Hell yeah. If we’re really gonna be here all night, might as well tie one on, right?”

“Okay.”

They found a bar a short way down that had an empty two-person table, and sat down.

“Beer?” asked Mickey.

“Guess so.”

“I’ll get the first round. You can get the next.”

“‘Kay.”

Ian sat back and studied Mickey as he waited around at the bar to be attended. What the hell was going on here, exactly? It felt like something was developing between them. Something potentially important. Here he was, trapped in what should be an utterly horrendous situation, yet this stranger was making it all seem inconsequential, or rather… he was making it seem… worthwhile. Fun, even.

He was stranded in a public space literally on the other side of the world from his home, yet he was finding himself feeling happy about it.

That shouldn’t be. And yet it was.

He tried to think back to the last time he really liked somebody, and he couldn’t actually remember when that was. He supposed it might’ve been Ned? A much older man he probably never should’ve been with at all, whose best quality had been whisking him away from his regular life, across the city to nicer parts, where he’d treat Ian nice and pay for everything. Ian wasn’t stupid enough not to know he was being used for his youth and attractiveness, but it was kind of a mutual using of one another in his eyes. Ned treated him well. Listened to him. Kissed him. He hadn’t been used to that sort of thing. Before that, it had been Kash. Younger than Ned, but still much older than Ian. He’d been more of a convenience, but he’d also lavished Ian with the kind of attention and material things he always lacked, and Ian had been naive enough to confuse it for love for a time.

Since the two of them, he’d been absorbed mostly by brief flings and hook-ups with slightly more age-appropriate guys in the club scene. He usually found it hard to really click with people. He was used to molding himself to what he thought guys wanted. He would change however he needed to in order to fit in. But with Mickey, here and now, he suddenly realized he wasn’t having to do all that. He wasn’t pretending, or embellishing, or playing anything off. He was just being himself. And Mickey seemed to lack artifice completely, so he was sure it was both of their true selves that were connecting.

He couldn’t be sure if Mickey was viewing him through the same lens or anything, but he was definitely getting undercurrents of flirtiness. And he was pretty sure Mickey didn’t usually flirt.

“So—” he said when Mickey sat down and placed two beers each in front of them, “What's the most shit you’ve ever gotten yourself into in the neighborhood?”

Mickey laughed in a manner indicating he was caught of guard by the question as he sat down. “Fuck’s sake. Ain’t it a bit early for tales of illegality?”

“Is it?”

“I mean… there’s a lotta shit to say, if I’m bein’ honest. My family is kinda notorious.”

“Yeah? So is mine. Do your worst.”

They both swigged their bottles. “'Kay, fine. Ran guns, ran drugs, ran hookers. Went to juvie three times. Went to jail once.”

Ian whistled derisively, but wasn’t actually scandalized. “Okay, so we never did any of that, but there was definitely our fair share of lying, cheating, and stealing. Dug up a dead aunt one time and cut off her toe for some weird welfare shit. I never really understood how it worked. It’s been hard to keep the house away from our shitty deadbeat dad. We’ve had to do whatever it takes, but we’ve worked legit jobs to make ends meet too.”

“Shit, man… never worked a legit job a day in my life.”

Ian grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“Crazy where life takes you, really. It’s all so fucking weird. I’ll never understand it.”

“What’s to understand? Just gotta keep survivin’. All that matters.”

Ian nodded, appreciating the simplicity of that philosophy. He suddenly felt bold, so he asked, “What about guys?”

One of Mickey’s expressive eyebrows rose. “Guys?”

“You _are_ gay, right?” teased Ian.

Mickey took a long pull of beer before replying, “Yeah. Guess I just don’t really talk about it, though.”

Ian was familiar with the concept. “Sure. Ever had a boyfriend?”

Mickey ducked his head, then took another drink. “Wouldn’t exactly say that. Sucked and fucked is a better description. Not one for relationships.”

Ian guffawed. “Shocking.”

“What, you got a boyfriend? You seem like the type.”

“Nah, not really. Thought I did a couple times, but it wasn’t real. I was young and dumb.”

“Still look young to me.”

“Well, I was young _er_. I’ve grown a little since I was a teenager.”

“I hope more than a little, gingerbread.”

Ian huffed a laugh and sipped his beer. “Haven’t had any complaints.”

Mickey’s eyes seemed to twinkle again as they crinkled at the corners with his smiling amusement, but he held back a retort and kept drinking.

By the time they made their way back to their gate, hours had passed, and lightning still seemed to be crackling outside with the steady rain. At this rate, the fucking runways themselves would be flooded. The sign still just read ‘DELAYED’ and Ian was pleasantly buzzed enough to not get mad about it. However, glancing around, there didn't seem to be any available seats. Some people were already laid out on the floor and everything.

“This looks like a fuckin’ shit show,” Mickey declared.

“Yeah. Should I even bother asking an agent for information again?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, but we’re fucked on the sleepin’ arrangements, apparently.”

Ian sighed. “Guess we could walk back down a ways where there’s seats away from the designated gates. Less crowded.”

“Yeah, but we’ll miss the announcements. We’re gonna have to sit on this hard-ass floor and wait for some people to get up so we can steal their spots. Unless you got a sleeping bag in that giant backpack of yours.”

Ian shook his head. “Didn’t go camping. Stayed in cheap places with beds or cots. I have one sheet, though.”

Mickey frowned. “Ooh, a sheet. That’ll provide lotsa padding.”

Ian snorted. “And what the hell do you have in _your_ bag that would help at all?”

They found a bare space of wall to lean against and sat down. “Well, not any fuckin’ cushioning, but… I just so happen to have some sedatives. Was supposed to be for the long plane rides, but I guess it would help us pass out in this loud, smelly mess.”

“You’re gonna share your goodies with me?” Ian asked, a little surprised.

Mickey shrugged. “Why not? You've made this crap situation not completely suck. I have enough stolen meds for you to get in on it too.”

Ian placed a sarcastic hand to his chest. “I’m honored.”

“Should we wait for some leather chair action or nah?”

“Nah. Fuck it. May not happen anyway. We can just curl up in our sweaters all the same. Ass might be sore later, though.”

“And not in the good way,” joked Mickey.

Ian punched him in the arm. “Don’t make sex jokes right now. Last thing I need is a sad airport boner.”

Mickey cackled. “You mean you’re not gonna rub one out under your sheet?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll try to save it for the airplane bathroom at least.”

“Oh yeah? Think _someone’s_ gonna initiate you into the mile high club?”

“Maybe.”

The innuendo was fast becoming completely unsubtle the more comfortable they seemed to be melting into their dynamic. Ian really hoped they weren’t assigned to different planes after everything was sorted, because he found himself wanting as much time with Mickey as he could possibly get.

They took the sleeping pills with bottled water they’d picked up on the way back from the bar, and soon enough passed out leaning against each other on the rough rug of the terminal floor.

The next thing Ian knew, he was awaking from a dreamless sleep by a foot tapping against his calf, and a paper coffee cup being shoved in his face.

“Wha?” he mumbled, blinking up.

“Rise and shine, Cinderella.”

“Oh,” he replied lamely, leaning up slowly. “Mickey.”

“You want this shit or not, man?” The hand with the coffee was still outstretched.

“Yeah,” said Ian. “Yeah, thanks.”

He took it and set it next to him for the time being, while he got his bearings. The skies outside were still gray, but it was no longer raining.

“They rescheduled the flight. We should be boarding in an hour or two,” Mickey informed him.

“Thank fuck,” Ian replied, finally sipping his coffee. It was way sweeter than he normally liked it, but wasn’t going to complain about the kind gesture. “Guess I need to go check in again, huh?”

“I don’t know. I think they’re just automatically assigning seats to single flyers.”

Ian got to his feet, shook out his limbs, and stretched tall. “Well, we can’t have that,” he said cryptically, walking toward the gate agent desk.

The women manning it were different than the ones from the night before, but Ian still managed to sweet-talk the one that didn’t look surly. He gestured to Mickey and explained he really needed to be seated next to his fiancé, and could she please help them out, because they hadn’t been able to book together originally. She was very amenable, and asked him to bring over both tickets so she could reissue them. He thanked her with a radiant smile, and walked back over to where Mickey was with all their stuff.

“Gimme your ticket and passport.”

“What? Why?”

“Cuz I’m getting it hooked up, that’s why.” He stuck his hand out, and Mickey rifled through his backpack and obliged.

Ian gave another dazzling grin and went back to the counter. She even let them sit in an emergency row, so they’d have more leg room.

“How the fuck do you manage that shit?” asked Mickey, clearly impressed.

Ian shrugged it off. “I just know how to talk to people. And what to say. If that lady asks, we’re totally engaged to be married, by the way.”

Mickey’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. “You told her we’re gettin’ married?”

“Yep. Needed to make sure she did what I asked. If I’d just told her I wanted to keep hitting on a stranger, she might not’ve helped. But if she thought we were together, then she'd have more incentive to help. She wouldn’t want us to pine for each other on our 12-hour flight.”

“Ugh, 12 fucking hours. Don’t remind me.”

“And then we still have to get back to Chicago.”

“Ugh. Air travel can suck my dick.”

Turned out they didn’t have the same flights back to the States, so the flight to Europe was going to be their last hurrah. At least for now.

An hour into the flight, Ian was itching to find the words to convey his desire to see Mickey again. He wondered if the kind of magical whirlwind of their time together would translate to what they could be like together back home. Maybe it wouldn’t be the same. Maybe they were only destined to be this flash in the pan. A spark of a possibility never to be fulfilled. A nice moment-in-time kind of fantasy.

“Can’t believe I was in Bangkok for weeks and didn’t even bang one cock,” Mickey blurted out randomly, breaking Ian from his reverie.

He laughed loudly. “And here _I_ was thinking romantic thoughts.”

“Romantic? Weren’t you the one practically begging me to bang you in the bathroom once we got in the air?”

“I did not beg you. At most, I _insinuated_.”

“Yeah well, have you seen the bathroom? It’s the tiniest space I’ve ever seen in my damn life. One wrong move in the middle of turbulence and you’d probly break your dick.”

Ian laughed again. “You do make it sound extra sexy.”

“I’m just sayin’… I’m skeptical about it. For your sake.”

“I have to admit, I’m not really feeling horny right now. Sorta like spending 15 hours in an airport and sleeping on a floor cools your jets or something.”

Mickey nods. “Breath probly stinks too. Pits definitely stink. Don’t even wanna know what’s goin’ on downstairs. Really probly best not to go gettin’ naked right now.”

“I agree.” Silence settled between them once more, but Ian now felt comfortable enough to say what he wanted to say. “So… you gonna go out with me? You know, when we’re back in the real world and all?”

Mickey eyed him with interest. “Like, _go out_ go out, or like you wanna bang?”

Ian chuckled. “Preferably _both_? I mean, I’m down for whatever. This whole ordeal has been kinda like a first date, right? We got all the awkward stuff outta the way.”

Mickey hesitated. “I uh... I’ve never been on a date before.”

Ian gasped. “What?” Mickey just shook his head, so he went on, “Well, for someone who’d never been on a date before, you were pretty good at it.”

The beginnings of a smile started blooming on Mickey’s face. “You think?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, I think. So what do ya say? Do it again? Soon?”

“Yeah, soon. After a week of sleep and physical therapy, I’ll consider it.”

“A _week_?”

“A few days. Tops.”

“Oh, I definitely plan on topping,” Ian jested, reaching over and squeezing Mickey’s thigh, wondering if he could get away with keeping his hand there for the duration of the flight.

“You better,” answered Mickey, and he didn’t push him away.

The armrest between them never did get lowered, and after breakfast was served and cleared away, Ian fell back asleep with his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Don’t forget to gimme your number, Firecrotch,” he heard softly in his ear as he drifted away under the cheap felt blanket.

Ian’s grin couldn’t be tamed.

 

 

  
*******  


**The End**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a true one-shot that ends here. I won't be continuing it.
> 
>  Thanks for reading.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://thevioletjones.tumblr.com/)


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